II. Loft in the fweet tumultuous Joy, (4274 III. The whole Creation's Wealth furvey ; iv. The richest Spoils of Earth and Air; 'Tis all too poor a Bribe by far She blushing cry'd V. My Life, my Dear, Since Calia thus you fancy, Give her, but 'tis too much, I fear, A Rundlet of right Nancy. An Imitation of Uxor vade foras. I. Weet Spoufe, you muft prefently troop and be gone, (Or fairly fubmit to your Betters ;) Unless for the Faults that are past, you atone, I must knock off my conjugal Fetters. II. When at Night I am paying the Tribute of Love, III. At Cribbage, and Put, and All-Fours, I have feen Than thou, wicked Kate, in the rapturous Scene, C 3 IV. Then IV. Then fay I to my felf, Is my Wife made of Stone, Better Motion and Vigor by far might be showA V. So, Kate, take Advice, and reform in good Time, Come in for your Club, and repent of the Crime. VI. All Day thou may'ft Cant, and look grave as a Nun, Or fee that the Family Bufinefs be done, But when you're in Bed with your Mafter and King, Mart. Epig. 61. 1. 11. Sit Phlogis, an Chione Veneri magis apta requiris ? No Nymph alive, with fo much Art, III. Cold Cold niggard Age, that does elsewhere At one poor Offering falter, But Chloe to Love's great Difgrace, And too much trufting to her Face, V. No half-form'd Words, nor murm'ring Sighs, Her breathlefs Lover, when he lies Difabled after Storming. VI. Dull as a Prelate when he prays, Or Cowards after Lifting, The fair Infenfible betrays Loves Rites, by not Affifting. VII. Why thus, ye Powers, that caufe our Smart, Do ye Love's Gifts diffever; Or why thofe happy Talents part, For once perform an Act of Grace,1- T To a Gentleman that cut off his Hair, and fer up for a Spark in his old Age. Out of Martial. Epig, 43 lib. 3. Mentiris Jurenem, &c. ◄Hou, that not a Month ago T Waft white as Swan, or driven Snow, Now blacker far than fop's Crow, C 4 Faith, Faith, Harry, thou'rt in the wrong Box, Old Age these vain Endeavours mocks, ́ ́ And Time, that knows thou'ft hoary Locks, Will pluck thy Mask off with a Pox. The 50th Epigram of Martial imitated. Queris folicitus diu, rogafq; Cui tradas, Lupe, filium Magiftro, &c. WH 7Hen e'er I meet you, ftill you cry, Wou'd you with Wealth his Pockets store well, Make him a Curate, or Hog-driver.. An Epigram out of Martial imitated,, IR Fopling, you're a Man of Fashion grown; The molt accomplish'd Blade in all the Town, 'Tis all the Ladies Talk; but tell me this, What a fine Man of Mode and Fashion is? 'Tis he that's all the Morning at the Glass, To put each Curl in its most proper Place, And in affected Forms to fet his Face, That fmells of Effence, and the best Perfume, Which does from India or Arabia come. That when one fpeaks (as if he did not hear) Humms o'er fome wanton Song, or modish Air; } That That Legs and Arms in various Poftures throws, That in loud Laughter does his Whispering end; At ev'ry Maik, at ev'ry Treat and Feast. And down from long Defcent pretends to trace T EPIGRAM S. An Epigram under the Picture of a Beat. HE vain Thing, fet up for Man, But fee what Fate attends him; my The poud'ring Barber first began, The Barber-Surgeon ends him. An extempore Epigram on Death. F Death does come as foon as Breath departs, |